


Visions of Eternal Day

by TwitteringYellowBirds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, F/M, False Memories, Memories, Pensieves (Harry Potter), Post-War, Pre-Epilogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwitteringYellowBirds/pseuds/TwitteringYellowBirds
Summary: When an accident in the Department of Mysteries affects Harry’s memories, the only person who can help him recover is Hermione.(This story will be updated every week)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	1. Long-Forgotten Heat

**Author's Note:**

> I read a Hermione & Harry fic sometime last year that involved flashbacks and a time loop, I think? And there were always gold or silver objects in each memory? Does anyone know what I'm thinking of? Anyway, that inspired this idea, along with the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
> 
> I forgot about this for months and started others in the meantime, but this work is essentially complete. I'll be releasing one chapter each Sunday to give me time to make edits (and also to prevent half a year passing before I update). Maybe someday I won't have to give these warnings, but it starts off with Hermione/Ron and Harry/Ginny even though it's very much a Hermione/Harry story.

_Harry picked up Hermione’s wand, which she had dropped in the snow, and sat back down in the entrance of the tent._

_"Thanks for the tea. I’ll finish the watch. You get back in the warm."_

_She hesitated, but recognized the dismissal. She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared._

_Several hours passed before he returned to the tent. Hermione was curled up in an armchair, staring into a jar of blue flames. She looked up and rearranged her hollow expression into one of concern. “I’ve heated some water in the tub, thought you might want a bath. I’ll take over the watch.”_

_“No, stay.” Heat rose in his cheeks at her wide-eyed reaction. “I came back in because it’s freezing. A bath sounds nice, thanks."_

_“I’ll just — um, be reading.” She cleared her throat, pulling out the first book she found in her beaded bag._

_He stepped into the bathroom, trying to calm his racing heart. What had just happened? They had been sharing a tent for months now; it wasn't the first time they had spoken about taking a bath or even gotten changed in each other's presence._ Get a grip, _he told himself._ You were nearly killed, you found out Dumbledore wasn’t who you thought he was, and _this_ is what you’re worried about?

_But despite how upset he felt about his broken wand, something had shifted in the air between them. He couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, perhaps once they started planning their trip to Godric’s Hollow. They had spent a full week in close proximity, scrutinizing each other’s appearances to perfect their Disillusionment Charms and squeezing underneath the Invisibility Cloak to practice Disapparating without a trace. Nighttime was still silent, but it felt companionable, and he hadn’t overheard any crying from her bunk. Before going to bed, he perused the photo album of his parents and couldn’t remember the last time he had checked the Marauder’s Map._

_Then, of course, there was their visit. Not only had she been there to console him at his parents’ grave, but she had also saved his life. He scrubbed at the locket-shaped imprint on his chest and could only imagine what she had seen and heard him do during those agonizing hours after their escape. And yet she had stayed, sponging his forehead, giving him space except to bring him tea and lunch, and drawing him a bath._

_Her words from earlier that morning echoed in his mind. “He loved you. I know he loved you.” How could she be so sure that Dumbledore had loved him? Unless she had seen something in Dumbledore’s actions that had resonated with her, or maybe she wasn’t really speaking about Dumbledore at all…_

_Even though he had just come inside from the cold, Harry felt as though an icy plunge would restore his senses. He finished washing up, hoping Hermione had been exhausted enough to go to bed early._

_As he emerged, however, his eyes landed on a tiny gift-wrapped object on the table. Hermione set aside_ A History of Magic _and approached him. “I almost forgot to wish you a happy Christmas.”_

_His stomach dropped. "Sorry — I didn’t get you anything.”_

_“It’s nothing, honestly." She thrust the present into his hands, her cheeks pink._

_Harry peeled the wrapping paper to uncover a toy knight riding a horse._

_“It’s stupid, I know. I saw it when we were getting hair from those Muggles doing their Christmas shopping, and I remembered you said that you used to play with those back in First Year—”_

_“I can’t believe — of course, you always remember… Thank you,” he cut himself off. He couldn’t think of any words that could express his gratitude; it felt so inadequate given all that she had sacrificed for him. Somehow this small reminder of their Muggle upbringings had pushed it over the edge. “Thanks for this, and for — er, everything.”_

_“You’re welcome.”_

_He placed the knight on the table and stepped forward to hug her, trying to convey everything he hadn’t been able to say out loud. The tension was palpable as they lingered in their embrace. It would be difficult later to say who had initiated what, but they turned their faces toward one another, his hands moved to her waist, she tangled hers in his messy hair, and they leaned in._

_In all their years of friendship, Harry had never allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to kiss Hermione. She had always been off-limits, especially once his best friends’ incessant bickering became inseparable from their attraction to one another. The kiss wasn’t timid like his first kiss with Cho underneath the mistletoe, nor did it resemble the adrenaline-fueled snogging sessions with Ginny. It was unhurried, deep and searching, as though she was testing out techniques to figure out what he liked. He tried not to think about who she might have learned from, preferring to believe she had read about it in the library. That idea made him grin, and she relaxed into him in response._

_What startled Harry the most was how natural it seemed, just like it had been to hold hands or wrap their arms around each other in Godric’s Hollow. Neither felt inclined to stop and talk about all the reasons this might be a bad idea. They had already crossed the line beyond friendship, and somehow it made sense given everything they had been through that they’d be exploring this unknown territory together._

_“Hermione, are you sure—?” he whispered, the first words they had spoken since making their way to the bottom bunk._

_“Yes,” she gasped, pulling him closer. “Oh, Harry…”_

_Before they even had time to process what they had done, there was a sound like a twig snapping, and Hermione froze. “Did you hear that?"_

_Harry controlled his breathing, listening hard. “Maybe it’s just the storm? I’ll go check.”_

_“It’s my turn, you’ve kept watch all day,” she argued, but he was already pulling on his jeans and grabbing her wand._

_Before he took another step, he paused to make it clear that he was trying to keep her safe, and not trying to run away. He tucked a lock of bushy hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek. “Try to get some rest. We can trade off later." She nodded, drawing his bedcovers around her and letting her eyelids droop._

_It was snowing by the time Hermione took over the watch at midnight. Harry’s dreams were confused and disturbing: Nagini wove in and out of them, first through a gigantic, cracked ring, then through a wreath of Christmas roses. He woke repeatedly, panicky, convinced that somebody had called out to him in the distance, imagining that the wind whipping around the tent was footsteps or voices._

* * *

“Harry!”

The sound of Ron’s voice roused him from his trance, and he glimpsed a blur of red hair as he blinked his eyes open. He was laying in a bed in a sterile white room _—_ St. Mungo’s?

“What happened?”

“That’s what we wanted to ask you.” Ginny’s face was pale. “Neville found you passed out in the Department of Mysteries.”

Harry eyed her with a puzzled expression. “Where’s Hermione?”

“Probably still at the Ministry,” Ron replied, raising his eyebrows.

Right at that moment, Hermione burst through the door. “Oh, Harry!”

A healer followed her in, hearing that Harry had awoken. She performed a series of checks and administered a silvery, syrupy potion that she warned would make him drowsy.

“What’s wrong with him?” Hermione asked, as Harry’s attention remained fixed on her.

“They said physically he seems fine, but something about unusual brain activity…”

“Was he in the room with the brains?” She turned to Ron, who shrugged.

“I was at the shop when I got the message. Dunno what he was investigating in the Department of Mysteries — you know how secretive they are, it doesn’t matter if you were an Auror before.”

“Where’s Neville?”

“Down the hall visiting his parents. Harry was passed out until right before you got here.”

“He asked for you,” Ginny notified Hermione with a slight tinge.

“Me? What—?”

The healer interrupted them. “Excuse me, but we’re going to need to monitor him overnight. We’re not entirely sure what’s happening, but there appears to be something wrong with his memory. We’ve called in a Legilimency specialist to examine him. If you come back tomorrow during visiting hours, we might have more information.”

Hermione went ashen. The healer reassured them that Harry wasn’t in any immediate danger, but she refused to provide any specifics about his condition.

“Come back tomorrow,” she repeated, ushering them into the hallway.

* * *

Later that night, they loitered in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, too anxious to sleep.

“So what do you think happened?” Hermione asked for the umpteenth time. “Wouldn’t Neville tell you any more details?”

Ron shook his head. “Strict confidentiality for anyone working in the Department of Mysteries.”

“The Veil?” she guessed.

“I think Harry’s too personally invested to gain clearance,” Ginny replied.

“What case was he was working on?” Hermione struggled to remember. “I wonder if we've confiscated any dangerous artifacts…?”

“Maybe there were other prophecies?” Ron ventured, and Ginny accepted this theory.

“About Hermione, you think?”

“Oh." A blush spread across her cheeks. “Because he kept looking at me?”

“Staring, more like,” Ron commented. “He asked for you right away.”

“Maybe it was something related to the time I was attacked?” she wondered, her hand moving to her chest. “That was near the room with all the Time Turners — but those were destroyed….”

“Whatever it was, it was like he didn’t even notice me.” Ginny's voice was brittle.

“Ginny — he’s been cursed or something, you know he’s not himself. Maybe he thought I had died.”

This statement hung in the air.

“Look,” Ron spoke up. “There’s no use coming up with theories and getting upset about how he’s been acting. We’ll find out more tomorrow, right?” He slid his arm around Hermione, and she gave Ginny a reassuring look.

“The healer said he’ll be alright. How many times have we seen Harry in the hospital wing? He beat death, I’m sure he can beat this.”

This did little to comfort her. “Neville couldn’t even bear to stay in the same room.”

“That was different, his parents—” Ron began, but he stopped for Hermione’s sake.

“I should go to bed.” She disentangled herself from Ron's grasp and gave him a quick kiss. As she made her way out, she patted Ginny on the shoulder, wishing she believed her own words.

* * *

_“I thought I’d find you out here.”_

_Harry leaned on the rooftop railing, scanning the city skyline. London seemed peaceful from this level, all powdery rooftops and twinkling lights, far above the traffic and revelry._

_Hermione came to stand beside him, hugging her arms to her chest. “What’s the matter?”_

_“It’s nothing. Just needed some quiet, is all.”_

_“I saw you talking to Slughorn.”_

_He exhaled, a puff of air visible from the chill. “He’d had too much brandy, and he kept telling me about my mum and how much I reminded him of her. And — I dunno, maybe I’ve had too much to drink too. But thinking of my parents and all the Christmas decorations — it reminded me of our visit to Godric’s Hollow.”_

_She reached out to touch his arm, and he tensed, glancing at her hand and then meeting her eyes. It dawned on her that he wasn’t talking about what happened in the graveyard but on the following Christmas Day. “Oh.” She dropped her hand to her side._

_“Can we finally talk about it?”_

_“We’ve talked about it,” she protested._

_“Not really, no.”_

_“Well, what is there to talk about? It was ages ago, Harry—”_

_He let out a bitter laugh. “It was a few years ago, but that isn’t exactly something you forget, is it?”_

_“I thought we agreed," she said, flustered. “Especially once Ron came back, we said we shouldn’t…”_

_“Ron’s not really in the way now, is he?”_

_She sighed, another cloud of air escaping. “You know that isn’t true. And remember how jealous Ginny was all the time? They never even knew, can you imagine if we…”_

_“If we what?” Harry turned toward her, his cloak billowing behind him, and she felt the crackle of electricity they had been careful to prevent since the war. She trained her eyes on the buildings in the distance to avoid his smoldering gaze._

_“If we…got together, they’d never speak to us. And it’d be all over the papers, do you really want all that publicity all over again—?”_

_“Is that what’s stopping you?”_

_“Do you really think this is a good idea, Harry? Maybe it’s better we never got further than we did, look at what happened with me and Ron…with you and Ginny…”_

_“We’re all still friends. Roommates, even.”_

_“Yes, but — you think they would accept this?” She gestured between them, but he seemed unconvinced, and she tried another tack. “Fine, suppose we forget about them for a moment. What if it didn’t work out? What would happen to us?”_

_He searched her eyes, which were wide with worry. “What makes you think it wouldn’t work out?”_

_“I don’t know, Harry… We have our disagreements—”_

_“We always make up. You’re almost always right, and I apologize for being a git.”_

_“And I’m not exactly your type, am I?”_

_“Yeah? What exactly is ‘my type’?”_

_“You know, the witches you’ve dated have all been sporty, popular, and attractive—”_

_“I’m not looking for a Quidditch teammate, I don’t care if you’re not into flying. And popular? You’re on a Chocolate Frog card, and you get as much fan mail as I do. Lastly,” he lowered his voice, admiring her sleek hair, cream-colored peacoat, burgundy dress robes and heels. “I thought it was obvious that I’m attracted to you.”_

_She shivered with goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold. “I still can’t believe that we…” she trailed away, unable to say the words aloud._

_“Do you regret it?”_

_“Of course not!” She collected herself, smoothing her hands on her coat. “Of course I don’t regret it, Harry, I just… It was a different time, wasn’t it? It was just the two of us, we were scared and lonely teenagers…”_

_He stepped back as though he had been burned. “So you were feeling sorry for me, or for yourself—”_

_“No, I wanted to do it, of course I’ve thought about being with you. But I don’t want to lose what we have, you’re too important to me.” Her eyes pleaded for understanding, but Harry’s resolve was firm._

_“If I’m so important to you, then stop thinking about it and just be with me.” He held out his hand, and she was taken aback by his directness. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”_

_“You know we can’t Apparate from the roof of the Ministry,” she reminded him out of habit, and he chuckled._

_“I’ll get my cloak, and we can sneak out before anyone at the party sees us.”_

_The conflict was evident in her eyes, too many glasses of elderflower wine to convince herself with the excuses she’d formed over the years. At last, she murmured, “The beaded bag is in my office, I’ve been keeping a tent in there in case of emergency… We probably shouldn’t go back to Grimmauld Place, we can find somewhere more private.”_

_Harry’s face broke into a grin. “You think of everything, don’t you? There’s just one more thing to do first.”_

_“What’s that?”_

_He swept her into his arms and kissed her._

* * *

“Is that how it happened?” the Legilimency specialist questioned, judging the answer from Hermione's stunned expression.

“N—no,” she stammered. “We did talk on the rooftop during the Christmas party, but we didn’t…”

“I understand this is sensitive matter, and I promise you that everything will remain between you and the hospital staff,” they assured her. “But this was the only false memory we were able to extract. I don’t know if you’ve seen a typical memory, but we immediately suspected this one had been tampered with due to its shimmering quality and distorted sound.”

She clapped her hand to her mouth, her mind whirring. Not too long ago she'd had a similar discussion a few doors down, as the healers informed her that her parents’ true memories wouldn’t be quite so easy to restore as she believed when she had cast the charms... Hermione blinked, focusing on her friend in front of her. “He’s had multiple modified memories?”

“Oh yes, years’ worth. And they all seem to be concerning you.”

“Me? But why—?”

“We haven’t quite figured that out. All we know is that his memory was attacked by a very powerful object. The Aurors have their own top secret investigation ongoing. We’ve been doing what we can to eradicate the false memories, but he seems to be…fighting it.”

“Fighting it?” She glanced back at Harry, who was groaning in his sleep. The monitors beside his bed displayed a blur of vital signs, spiking graphs and colorful heat maps of his brain. She made a mental note to consult the neuromagic section of Flourish and Blotts after her visit ended.

“Occlumency. Subconsciously, perhaps, but something is blocking him from letting these memories go, and there’s little we can do to set him straight otherwise." They gave her a rundown of the treatments the St. Mungo's staff had tried, before mentioning, "We were hoping you could help.”

“How?”

“Persuade him. We were able to isolate this one, but we think you’ll have better luck.”

“I’m not an expert in Legilimency—”

“You don’t need to use magic. Try talking to him and walking through his memories together. Show him the real ones from your mind.” The specialist indicated the Pensieve from which they had emerged. “We’ll wake him from his enchanted slumber soon, although we should warn you that he won’t be quite like himself.”

“What do you mean?” She wrung her hands, trying to remind herself that this wasn’t the same as what happened to her parents, that it wasn’t her fault…

“Well, we expect he’ll behave differently toward you.” They looked down at Hermione’s ring finger and explained, “He believes you two are engaged, you see.”


	2. Under Friendship’s Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We should set some rules,” she declared, and it was as though she was planning how they should approach their homework. “First, we don’t tell anyone we ever did this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving credit where it’s due — thanks to @kitkat1485 for pointing me to the fic I mentioned in the previous note: "All Our Yesterdays" by DrSallySparrow. When I say inspired, I meant the idea to take a movie based on memories and time as a premise for a story, but that’s about as far as the similarities will go in both cases.

_Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. Even though Harry slept in, the curtains around the other boys’ beds were still drawn. The Gryffindor common was much quieter than usual, its sole occupants a handful of younger students unable to attend the ball and Hermione in the corner, Crookshanks splayed across her lap_. _She greeted him over her copy of_ Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles, _seeming relieved that Ron wasn’t with him._

_Harry couldn’t help but notice that her hair was bushy again. “How’d you get your hair to look like that yesterday?” he asked, attempting to smooth his own case of bed head._

_“Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion,” she confessed._

_“I’ve tried some of Ron’s, but it didn’t work."_

_“Well, to tell you the truth, I used quite, erm, liberal amounts — but it’s way too much bother to do every day,” she said matter-of-factly, scratching a purring Crookshanks behind the ears._

_“You look fine without it. If we’re being honest, I didn’t recognize you at first.”_

_Her eyes flashed. “Hadn’t recognized I was a girl?”_

_“That’s not what I— Everyone’s been thinking that you're my girlfriend since that article came out, haven’t they? Though I reckon they’ll stop now.”_

_“Yes, I suppose they might.” She cast a look at the staircase to the dormitories. “Harry — I was wondering if you could help me with something.”_

_He hesitated, hoping it wasn’t related to S.P.E.W. Then again, Hermione had helped him too many times to count, and he knew he ought to reciprocate. “With what?”_

_“I’ll tell you later, okay? After dinner, meet me in the classroom where we practiced Summoning Charms. Bring your Invisibility Cloak. And don’t tell Ron,” she emphasized. “If he asks where you’re going, say you’re working out the egg. Probably best to bring that too, to be safe.”_

_Now his interest was piqued, but he couldn’t ask anything else as Ron trudged over to them._

_“Good morning, Ronald,” Hermione said in a stiff voice._

_He returned her oddly formal demeanor, and the three of them headed to the Great Hall for breakfast._

_That evening, when Ron challenged him to a game of wizard's chess, Harry gave the excuse Hermione had prepared, feeling guilty that he wasn’t actually trying to work out the clue. All day he had been preoccupied by what she could possibly need his help with, and he hurried to meet her._

_“Thanks for coming,” she whispered, checking the corridor and locking the door behind him._

_“What’s going on?”_

_Hermione bit her lip. “Promise not to tell anyone?”_

_“Of course.”_

_She met his eyes and then shook her head. “Forget it, this was a stupid idea—”_

_“Hermione, what is it?” He was burning with curiosity._

_“Well…” She let out a shaky breath. “Viktor wanted to kiss me last night, but I was too nervous, and I ran off.”_

_Her face was bright scarlet, and Harry tugged at his collar. He wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. “Er… So what do you need my help with?”_

_“I was hoping it could be like the Summoning Charm — I mean, I’ve read about it, of course, but I haven’t had the opportunity to try…”_

_His mind was racing, unable to process her rambling response. “You want to practice the Summoning Charm?”_

_“No, I want to practice…kissing.”_

_“You — what?“ He felt as though he’d been knocked in the head with a Bludger. Then he remembered their surroundings and lowered his voice. “But I haven’t kissed anyone before,” he admitted._

_“I know, that’s why it’s perfect, isn’t it? We can learn together.”_

_“Why can’t you learn it from him? I bet he’s got loads of experience.”_

_“That’s the problem.” She buried her face in her hands. “He’s older, and he’s a famous Quidditch player and the Durmstrang Champion. I have no clue what he sees in me, and once he finds out I’m dreadful at this—”_

_“He seems to like you a lot from what I saw,” Harry told her. “I don’t think he’d be too happy about you kissing me.”_

_“But it’ll just be practice, you know, just between friends.”_

_“Friends don’t kiss each other,” he snorted._

_“Please, Harry? I know it’s not like having to face a dragon, but I’m hopeless. I’d feel much better if I didn’t have to try it for the first time with him. You understand that, don’t you?”_

_“I owe you my life for that, truly.” He saw the anxious expression on Hermione’s face and acknowledged her unwavering loyalty when everyone else had turned on him. “Alright then. How are we supposed to practice this ‘like friends’?”_

_“We should set some rules,” she declared, and it was as though she was planning how they should approach their homework. “First, we don’t tell anyone we ever did this.”_

_“Agreed.”_

_“Secondly, this doesn’t count, right? I know you fancy Cho—”_

_“Can we not talk about her right now?” An image of Cho and Cedric kissing arose in his mind, and he banished the thought._

_“Third — it’s only kissing. I’m not trying to, you know, score the Quaffle or beat a Bludger or whatever you call it—“_

_“Hermione!” His face could have cooked a dragon egg. He wasn’t sure what was more shocking: hearing his name called from the Goblet of Fire, finding out about the First Task, or this situation._

_“And that should cover it,” she finished. “You’ll still help me, won’t you?”_

_“I — yeah, okay. As long as it’s just kissing and no one ever finds out… If that’s what you want, I’ll help.”_

_“Great! So I read a few books, and they all said—“_

_“Hermione,” he interrupted._

_“Yes?”_

_“Let’s just get it over with—“ And just as he had done when they were practicing the Summoning Charm, Harry gathered his nerves, closed his eyes, and focused on the task at hand._

* * *

"So you think that was our first kiss?” Hermione asked once they were back in St. Mungo’s. She had been too stunned to say anything inside the memory, as it had taken place much earlier than she had expected. Harry, however, had provided a running commentary of his inner monologue at the time.

“I know you said it didn’t count, but when you practice it that many times, it’s a bit hard not to.” Harry grinned, still holding her hand. “Remember after I kissed Cho, and you accidentally told Ron I wasn’t a bad kisser?”

“You remember that,” she said, nonplussed.

“Of course, I remember everything. I told you, I don’t understand why I’m here, I’m completely fine.” He took a seat at the edge of the hospital bed, inspecting the runes decorating the heavy stone basin.

“What else do you remember? Do you remember how we met?”

“Yeah, you burst into our compartment on the Hogwarts Express looking for Neville’s toad.”

“Right. And how did we become friends?”

“We fought a troll. And you’re the reason I passed all my classes and found the Horcruxes and the Hallows and survived the war. What else do I need to prove?”

“What happened after all that kissing practice?” Her face felt warm, and she couldn’t make eye contact. He regarded her with unabashed adoration, and she realized that even though they had been friends for so many years and she had seen him in a long-term relationship with Ginny, there were sides of Harry she’d never been privy to. But it was just the memory modification, she chided.

“We pretended it never happened. You eventually snogged Krum, and he confronted me before the Third Task, but I told him we were just friends. And then I was a little preoccupied with — oh, just Voldemort coming back and Cedric dying.” He took note of the mixed emotions on her face and softened, reaching for her hand again and stroking it. “You kissed me on the cheek when we left for the summer though, you hadn’t done that before.”

She tried to concentrate on her line of questioning. “Then what happened in Fifth Year? With you and Cho?”

Behind his glasses, his green eyes twinkled with amusement. “Are you still jealous?”

“I’m not jealous, I just…want to know what you think. Can you show me?”

“You want to see me snogging Cho?”

“No, not that! Let's see, what about — when you arrived at the Burrow after that summer?”

“Well, you knocked the wind out of me, and then I was a prat because neither of you wrote to me for months. But after we got our prefect’s badges, then—”

“Hold on,” she cut in. “ _Our_ prefect’s badges?”

“Are you sure I’m the one with the memory problems? Who else would’ve been the Gryffindor prefect, Seamus?”

“Show me what happened that year.” She pressed his wand into his hand.

Harry acquiesced, placing the tip to his temple and withdrawing a wispy strand. It shimmered on the surface of the Pensieve, brighter and more opalescent than the usual silvery glow.

_The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand._

_“Did you — did you get—?”  
_

_She spotted the badge in Harry’s hand and let out a shriek._

_“I knew it!” she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. “Me too, Harry, me too!”_

_He shot a guilty look at Ron, who was examining a Chudley Canons poster on his wall and pretending he wasn’t there._

Hermione in the present day studied her younger self, recalling how disappointed she had been to discover that Ron had been chosen as prefect, and not Harry. It should have been him. How different would their lives have been if Dumbledore hadn’t interfered so much, if he hadn’t placed such a burden on Harry from such a young age?

She reminded herself how much his version of events had already diverged from their past. Even if she might have dreamed of asking Harry to kiss her, she never would have dared to recruit him for a practice session. Though it wouldn't have hurt, she reasoned, considering the awkward way her mouth had mashed with Viktor's down by the Great Lake…

“You were really excited about that special prefect bathroom, weren’t you?” Harry teased, disrupting her train of thought, while her younger self listed the benefits that prefects enjoyed. “Though we did have some interesting run-ins…”

“Did we?” She turned crimson. “Add those to the list of memories we need to review.”

They shifted their focus to the current memory, as Ron burst out, _“Oi, do you think you can take this party somewhere else? I’m happy for you two and all, but—”_

_“Yeah, you seem really happy,” the teenaged Hermione snapped. “Why can’t you just be proud of us? We’ve worked really hard, and you know what Harry’s been through—”_

_“Cut it out, both of you.” As it often had that year, Harry's patience had worn thin in an instant. “It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? Even with this badge… The Ministry already tried to expel me, the Daily Prophet is making me out to be an attention-seeking liar. What does being prefect matter if Voldemort’s back, if Cedric—”_

_“Harry, this was supposed to be good news—” She glowered at Ron, who appeared chastened._

“Should we move on?” present-day Hermione asked as it became clear that this particular moment wouldn’t lead to more shocking revelations.

Harry nodded, gripping her hand as the scene dissolved and St. Mungo’s took its place. “So do you want to relive the time you walked in on me getting undressed, the time I nearly saw you getting out of the bath, or the time we caught Malfoy and Pansy going in together—?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Can you make a highlight reel? We have so much time to cover, we’ll never get through it all at this rate.”

“What’s the point of this, Hermione?” He hadn't called her any embarrassing pet names, but he bestowed her name with a certain reverence that made her heart flutter.

“You didn’t notice anything… _strange_ about these memories?”

“Like what?”

“They’re all shiny, like we’re seeing them through a filter. Look, I’ll show you mine.” She extracted her memory of that day, and they plunged back into the Pensieve.

_“I knew it!” she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. “Me too, Harry, me too!”  
_

_“No,” said Harry quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron’s hand. “It’s Ron, not me.”_

_“It — what?”_

_“Ron’s prefect, not me,” Harry said._

_“Ron?” said Hermione, her jaw dropping. “But… are you sure? I mean—”_

“Ron?” the older Harry repeated, sporting a similar open-mouthed reaction.

Hermione seized him, and the hospital room swam back into view.

“So…I wasn’t prefect?” Harry rubbed at his temples. “I have all these memories of us patrolling the halls — that was when you and I started getting closer. But if it was you and Ron…”

She held her breath. “What do you remember about Ron and me?”

“You argued all the time. At first it was like pulling a girl’s pigtails on the schoolyard to hide a crush, but after you two broke up, he said it was like his fights with Ginny — you know, bickering like siblings.”

“Siblings,” she echoed, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “So when did we break up? And who did he end up with?”

He squinted, trying to figure out what was happening, but he answered, “You dated for a bit in Fifth Year, around the time I was seeing Cho. He rebounded with Lavender not too long after, but they broke it off after he was poisoned by Romilda Vane's love potion. Then when we were in Auror training, we kept running into Parvati and Padma at the Leaky Cauldron after work, he apologized for being a bloody git at the Yule Ball, and they’re together now. Aren't they…?” he asked, doubt beginning to creep over him.

“Padma Patil?” Hermione gaped. “No, Harry. Ron and I have been together since the final battle. Sure, we’ve been off and on sometimes, and he’s been a ‘bloody git’ as you say…”

“ _You_ and Ron?” At last he caught sight of her left hand, bereft of a ring.

“You’re engaged to Ginny,” she mumbled, looking over at the wall, up at the ceiling, anywhere but at him.

“ _Ginny_? We got together for a while at the end of Sixth Year, but…” He shut his eyes, trying to reconcile this news with the memories swirling through his mind.

“But what?”

“It can’t be. At Godric’s Hollow…”

Hermione stilled. “Let’s see it. Look closely this time, okay?”

Harry produced another memory, which gleamed like an oil spill on the cloudy surface. Taking a deep breath, they dove in.

_They were standing hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night’s first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village._

Harry and Hermione followed their younger selves, disguised as an old Muggle couple, through the kissing gate and into the church graveyard. It seemed the same so far — locating his parents’ marble headstone, conjuring the wreath of Christmas roses, Harry gripping her hand as sobs wracked his body, but then—

_Hermione as the Muggle woman moved to wipe away her partner’s tears, and he caught her hand._

_“Thank you,” he said in a choked voice, his red-rimmed eyes filled with such intense affection that it took her breath away. “I couldn’t imagine coming here with anyone else.”_

_“I’m glad I got to meet them.” She glanced back at James and Lily Potter's resting place._

_“They would have loved you.”_

_“You think so?”_

_“You’ve heard how Slughorn talks about my mum — she was his best student. And I know my dad would have been impressed by all the rules you’ve broken,” he chuckled._

_Hermione managed a rueful smile. “My parents thought you were my boyfriend when I kissed you on the cheek at King’s Cross after Fourth Year.”_

_“And they didn’t even read Rita Skeeter’s rubbish.”_

_But the mention of her parents was too much, and after trying to hold herself together for his sake, Hermione broke down crying. Without hesitation, Harry wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug._

_“They don’t even know I exist,” she gasped, burying her face into his shoulder. “How could I—?”_

_“You’re keeping them safe,” he insisted. “We’ll find them once this is all over...”_

_“I know. I’m sorry—” she muffled into his jacket, as he patted her hair._

_“Don’t be. But — er, let’s focus on our mission right now, okay? We need to find the sword, we’re so close...”_

_It was his turn to dry her face with a gentle swipe of his thumbs, and maybe it was all the emotional catharsis and vulnerability, or maybe it was because they had been so intimate in one another’s personal space, and maybe it didn’t hurt that they didn’t really look like themselves — but Harry cupped her cheeks, pressing his lips against hers._

The Harry beside her entwined their fingers, the snowy scene transforming into the sterile white room. "So that never happened?"

She shook her head, dazed. "Not that last part. We did visit your parents, but we didn't…”

"Kiss?" he supplied, eyes tracing the curve of her lips.

Hermione’s hands trembled as she tucked her bushy hair behind her ears.

"I've been dying to kiss you since you showed up yesterday," he disclosed in a low voice, and her heart hammered in her throat. "But I reckon Ron and Ginny wouldn't be okay with that?"

_Not that it stopped us before—_

She refused to continue that line of thinking.

"I think we've had enough for today, don't you?" She adopted her brisk, businesslike tone, but Harry clutched her wrist.

"Please, Hermione, don't leave yet—”

She caught a glimpse of the time on the heirloom watch Molly had given him. "I really must be off, Ron will getting home soon."

"Hang on — there's something I don't understand."

She tilted her head, and he searched her face as though he was hoping for a trace of the Hermione from his memories.

"So we did go to Godric's Hollow together?"

"Yes."

"Which means that Ron did leave us in the tent?"

She nodded, certain he could hear her heart thundering against her ribcage.

Harry's eyes, deep pools of emerald, bore into hers. "Then why did you choose him?"

"I…"

He waited, tracing light circles against her skin.

"I need to go," she faltered, faint from his touch and incapable of answering his question. It was the same one she had been asking herself for some time now. "It'll make more sense when I come back tomorrow, after your first proper treatment…"

Snatching her coat and purse, she backed into the hallway and struggled to pull herself together.

Across the corridor, she spotted the signpost labeled SPELL DAMAGE. Though years had passed since the last time she had stepped foot in that wing, she had no trouble picturing its occupants: their former professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, autographing a copy of his most recent book, _Who Am I?_ ; Frank and Alice Longbottom pocketing wrappers of Drooble's Best Blowing Gums; and for a few agonizing months, blank-faced and mildly polite whenever she addressed them, her own mum and dad…

What if Harry ended up in there? What if the healers were unable to find a cure, and he could never regain his former memories? What if his brain remained filled with false visions of them together? What if he continued to pine for her, gazing at her like she was the most beautiful witch in the world?

Hermione took a deep breath, and as she often had when she was preparing herself for the worst possible outcomes, she heard Harry's voice in her subconscious, steady and fearless: _"Would that really be so bad?"_


End file.
